


Doin' the Fondue

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, King Alistair, King Alistair and Queen Cousland, Making Love, Masturbation, Morning After, Morning Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Wedding, Queen Cousland, Smut, True Love, Vaginal, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night, anxious alistair, feasting and food, generic cousland, morning after sex, newlyweds, strong woman, trapped together (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29659647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alistair and the Warden spend the first night not only as husband and wife but as King and Queen.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Doin' the Fondue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> Thanks to CuriousThimble for being my beta!   
> And thank you Manka and Ash for running this excellent event. <3

The great hall in Denerim Castle was loud and filled to the rafters with people. Nobles, elves, dwarves and peasants alike were squeezed in, all clamouring to see the newly married couple. Up on the dais, overlooking the crowd that was slowly getting rowdier and rowdier with the ale and wine that continued to flow, Alistair - now King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden - slouched in his throne and took a gulp of wine. 

He was terrified. 

Oh, the ceremony had been a delight, and he had adored proclaiming his love in front of the Maker and the witnesses in the Chantry. But as soon as he had stepped into the hall for their wedding feast, his gut started churning. Because he knew what must come next after the merriment had ended. 

He glanced at his wife beside him. His wife! Despite his anxiety, he couldn’t help but grin like a fool at the thought of his Grey Warden companion, Lady Cousland, now being his wife. It didn’t seem wholly real. Indeed, most of his life the past year hadn’t seemed real. So much had changed, and now he was married. 

Alistair took another sip of wine from his goblet and his new wife glanced at him, a small frown on her brow. _She already knows me so well,_ he thought. No one else would be able to tell that anything was amiss, but she had always seen straight through him and knew when even the smallest thing was bothering him. One of the many traits he loved about her. Although it did mean that it was impossible to keep any sort of secret from her. Even the good kind of secrets. 

As he picked at his food, his new wife and Queen accepted many gracious gifts from guests. All curtsied or bowed and she was most eloquent in her response. Truly, she was more prepared for this life as a monarch than him. Her noble upbringing was a far cry from how he was raised. But wherever his trepidation lay about ruling, he knew that with this woman beside him as his Queen, that he could do anything. 

She laughed heartily at a joke Teagan was telling her, and he watched as she wiped away a tear. Alistair glowered at his uncle and reached out for his wife’s hand. She turned to him, a wide smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and her lips rosy from the wine. 

“Everything alright?” she asked.

He nodded his head to Teagan. “Just wondering what was so funny…?” 

She blushed prettily, and a jealous hand gripped his gut. He would not easily forget his uncle’s flirtations when he had first met them in Redcliffe, and ever since, a fit of strange jealousy and need to claim her as he always came about when he was in the presence of both her and Tegan. 

Waving a jewelled hand, she shook her head. “It was nothing. Rather crude, actually, so I told him off for lowering the tone of our conversation at our wedding feast,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “Now what’s the matter with you?”

“Me?” he repeated. “Nothing. Nothing is the matter with me at all. Absolutely nought.” 

“Alistair,” she said seriously, leaning in close. Her tone made him want to listen, but her golden gown with its tight bodice had pressed her breasts pleasantly together and were well within his eye line that he couldn’t help but glance down. A treacherous blaze of desire coursed through him, and with her puckered lips, her brow furrowed in concern, he wanted nothing more than to crush her to him and - 

A chill went through him. He wanted her, oh yes, most desperately, but Tegan caught his eye and winked, and a shudder of repulsion went through him as he turned his head to see half of the court watching their interaction. He pulled away from his wife abruptly and reached for his goblet of wine, again and took a huge mouthful. 

Ever the gracious lady, his wife smiled faintly and pretended that nothing had happened. But the look she quietly gave him as he peered at her over the rim of his goblet made his gut clench with guilt. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, and he felt rotten about being the cause. 

The dinner continued and as the servants were generous with topping up his wine, Alistair kept emptying his goblet. His wife, on the other hand, declined and stuck to watery lemonade and with dread, he realised that she was not drinking the same as him because it was _expected_ that she needed to stay sober to _conceive_. 

It was like a weight was pressing down on his chest, and he struggled to breathe, and it was getting worse as the evening wore on. Soon he stopped eating and drinking and just watched everybody that approached the dais to offer their congratulations or present gifts to the newlyweds. One item that was given to the new Queen was a selection of herbs which, as the kindly elderly noble had explained “would help the womb quicken”. Alistair had almost retched at her words, and instead began a small coughing fit, which required his wife to smack him firmly on the back a few times harder than she would’ve done normally.

At one point, a small child approached, dressed in a simple cotton tunic, as white as a cloud. Her hair was braided down her back and entwined with flowers. She stood before the queen who rose from her throne and leant over the table to adjust a flower in the girl’s hair. Alistair watched as his wife’s face lit up with warmth as she listened and spoke to the child. He wanted to give that to her. But… but… 

“Let us bed them!” Tegan suddenly announced, and there was a scramble as the court got to their feet hurriedly, to be one of the select few to follow them to their chambers. The women reached the queen and she shot Alistair one swift look of alarm before resigning herself to their insistent tugs as they all but pushed her out of the room. Alistair followed with a group of noblemen, including his uncle. 

“I bet you’re looking forward to this, m'boy,” Tegan grinned, falling into step beside Alistair, as they made their way through the halls of the castle. 

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied flatly, his face feeling warm not just from the wine. 

Tegan clapped him on the back. “You are one lucky man, my boy,” he said with a sigh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so quiet in all the time I’ve known you. Your mind has been elsewhere this evening - and I’m not the only one to notice.”

Dread tugged at him as he climbed the stairs. “Yes, you’re right and I’m sorry, but-”

“Sorry!” Tegan repeated with a snort. “You’ve no need to be sorry. Most men are as quiet as a mouse in anticipation of their wedding night. And one can’t certainly blame you: your wife is simply lovely.” 

“Yes, _thank you,_ Tegan,” Alistair ground out, shrugging his shoulder lose of his grip. But rather than be offended, the man laughed and Alistair clenched his fists. Never before had he been so tempted to knock his uncle around the head.

They arrived at his chamber door and inside more nobles awaited eagerly. The king’s bed had been arranged neatly, but there was no expectation for him to sleep there tonight. Instead, he eyed the connecting door where he knew his wife would be waiting for him, surrounded by the noblewomen. 

“Are you going to leave?” he asked, looking around the room, but the men just laughed, and chatted, some making obscene gestures. He grimaced, hating the sheer _manliness_ in the room. His manservant came forward to help him undress from his finery and removed his crown. Once he had been disrobed save for his smalls, he threw on his white cotton nightshirt and ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

There was a faint knock at the connecting door, and one of the servants hurried forward and exchanged whispers with the servant on the other side. Alistair paced anxiously and took a very keen interest in a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt. The men around him were talking about absolute filth, and he squeezed his eye tight shut, in the vain hope that his ears would squeeze shut too. 

Finally, the connecting door swung open and the servant stood aside. Alistair was rooted to the spot, fear coursing through him. _Are these people… going to watch_? He thought with horror.

He was quite content with where he was until Tegan elbowed him in the ribs. “Nervous?” he said with a wink. 

“Yes. No! I mean, _no_!” he said hurriedly, his face burning. 

“There’s nothing to be scared about. She’s going to be a wonderful wife to you in so many ways…”

“Shut up,” Alistair groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. Honestly, he was _this_ close to hurling Tegan out the window.

But before he could entertain that thought further, the men in his room were pressing him through the door and - _oh Maker no_ \- were also following him. He entered the queen's bed-chamber to find a gaggle of ladies with rosy cheeks flutter their lashes and lick their lips seductively at the men. But Alistair was anything but aroused when he finally turned to the large, four-poster bed, to see his wife and queen. 

She was a perfect painting of innocence and virginity in crisp white sheets with a matching white nightdress. Her hair had been unbound and combed neatly and she sat as still as a statue, her back and posture absolutely perfect for a queen. The covers were pulled up to her lap, and her hands rested delicately entwined: her sparkling wedding ring the only jewellery that remained. 

He refused to meet her eyes as he slowly walked around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers down amidst the chatting of the court and when he finally sat beside her, a good arms-length away from her, the court finally - _finally_ \- turned to leave. Several clapped, the women exchanged knowing looks with the queen, who smiled politely in return, and the men, now incredibly drunk, ambled from the room, wishing Alastair luck and reminding him of how lucky he was. 

Finally, blessedly, the last person left the room and closed the door with a gentle _click_.

* * *

To the new queen’s dismay, the first thing her new husband did as soon as the door had shut, was leap out of the bed as if he had been scalded. She frowned as he strode towards the door, and for an awful moment, she thought he was going to leave. But no: he reached to a small side table and found a key and locked the big oak door to her chambers, followed by locking the conjoining door from the king’s bedroom. 

Still not saying anything, Alistar strode around the room, pulling open curtains and wardrobes, trunks and cabinets. 

“What in the world are you doing?” she finally asked, her patience running thin. The man had barely spoken to her since their vows in the Chantry in the morning, and now he was examining every nook and cranny of her chambers? 

He paused by her bookshelf and flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “Checking,” he replied, before shifting a few books. 

“Whatever for?” 

He sighed in exasperation. “To make sure that we are alone! Andraste’s arse, I thought they were going to stay at one point and watch to make sure we… we… erm…” he coughed and busied himself by peering under a chaise lounge. 

She got out of bed and dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed. Thankfully, there was no one there, but she had to admit that the same fear had crossed her mind. Even though she knew that wasn’t the common practice, sometimes nobility did take things a bit _too_ literally… 

“We’re safe,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips.”There’s no spy, no peephole, no nothing but us.”

Alistair finally stopped his fidgeting and turned to her from across the room. For the first time in a long time, they were utterly alone. Normally, they would’ve fallen into each other’s arms by now, but something was stopping her, and she could tell that something was also stopping him. They stood on opposite sides of her room, the bed imposing and glaring at them, whilst the distance between them felt as vast a chasm. And that was something neither of them had experienced before. 

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands clasped before her.

Alistair also seemed to be studying his fingernails. “Yes, I suppose it is.” 

She played with the hem of her pure white night-dress and frowned. Conversation with her now-husband had never been this stilted. So she switched tactic to one he would hopefully relax with: humour. 

“You know, for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought they were all going to stay and watch,” she said with a wry smile. She knew they wouldn't - being brought up as a noble lady had earnt her some education in these things - but Alistair needed not to know that. For it worked:

“Maker! You did too?” he exclaimed, letting out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t _think_ they would, but I began to doubt myself.”

She took a step towards him. “Hence your paranoia about spies?” 

He nodded. “Yes, hence the… _paranoia_ ,” he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, but there was a smirk on his lips, which made her heart soar. 

The man she knew was peeking through, so she took another step closer. “It’s an archaic tradition anyway,” she said. “I know for a fact that they do not practice it in Orlais.” 

Alistair snorted. “Perhaps the only redeeming factor of the Orlesians.” 

“Hmm, that and the cheese,” she smiled and finally, _finally_ , her new husband met her eyes. 

They both burst into laughter and she saw his shoulders sag. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don't want to,” she said earnestly. 

His face reddened. “But I do! I do want to! With you, that is! I just… it’s just…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he sought out the right words.

“The pressure of it all?” she supplied.

“Yes!” he gasped, relieved. “To know that we cannot come together unless it’s for a purpose. That purpose,” he mumbled, pointing to her stomach. 

He was going inside himself again, so she took his hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Think of it this way… it’s for the good of the country that you fuck me senseless any time of day and night.” 

Alistair spluttered at her bluntness but she just laughed as she slipped her hands from his and moved past him. There was a small table laden with food - to help keep up their energy for their excursions, no doubt - so she helped herself to a goblet of wine and poured one for her new husband. “You’re probably one of the only men in the world who can use that excuse,” she smiled, popping a grape in her mouth. 

“You…” he grinned, walking over and taking the other goblet from her hand. “You are a minx.”

She pretended to be shocked. “You’ve only just realised? And here I thought you only married me because you knew I was.” 

He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, kissing the top of her head. “One of many, many _many_ reasons,” he replied. 

They stood content in silence, their thoughts elsewhere when she finally spoke again. “I meant what I said. We don’t have to do anything we’re expected to do tonight.”

He gulped but nodded. “I… I know. And I appreciate that, but please don’t think it’s because I don’t want... _need_ you,” he said quietly, his grip on her tightening. 

“It’s not like we’ve not done it before,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “Even if this gown pretends to be evidence to the contrary.” 

“Yes, and we have done it, many, _many_ times…” 

“And we will many more,” she confirmed, popping another grape in her mouth, the sweetness washing over her tongue. She turned to him: “but not tonight.” 

“Thank the Maker I married you,” he murmured, downing the rest of his wine. 

“But I do have a wicked idea…”

He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

“We should take all of this food and eat it… in bed.” 

He laughed, so genuine and delightful that her gut warmed pleasantly. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the cheese board and marched over to the bed. He threw her down, and she tried to not be too aroused by the action, but her pert nipples through her night-dress gave her away. Determined to make sure Alistair was as happy as could be, she reached forward and pulled him onto the bed and instead of kissing him, grabbed a handful of cheese and squashed it into his mouth. 

The King of Ferelden snorted with laughter as he tried to eat the cheese, before doing the same back at his new queen. He pecked her on the nose and rose to collect more food and wine, and soon they were sitting leaning against the headboard, a delectable spread of food between them. And they gorged. 

* * *

The sun peered through the lattice windows of the queen’s chamber. The light was white and bright and brought Alistair blinking out of his deep slumber, momentarily confused at his location. He looked up at the canopy above him and duly noted the olive green drapes of the Queen’s bed. He’d never slept in here and was momentarily disoriented until he remembered the day before.

In his arms, still and sound asleep, was his wife. Her hair was splayed on the pillow and tickled his nose. He couldn’t see her face, but today it felt more real: this woman who had become his friend and companion, lover and hero of Ferelden, was now his _wife…_ his _queen_ . He gently propped himself onto his elbow, so as not to wake her, and gazed down at her face, noting the way the sunlight accentuated her high cheekbones. _This wonderful, beautiful and exquisite woman is my wife_ , he thought with quiet awe. His chest flipped with uncontained joy and gone was the trepidation of the night before. 

He studied her face as she slept, her nostrils flaring slightly as she sighed contently in her sleep. He lay back down and pulled her close to him, tightening his grip on her, and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicatingly sweet scent. The silk nightdress was so smooth and thin, and his hands couldn’t help but wander up and down, his fingers gently brushing the material over her skin, like water. Without realising it, he found himself rutting against her arse, which was tucked up cosily to his groin. He tried to still himself, _she's still asleep_! But his wandering hands could not be stopped as one slowly crept up her torso and cupped a breast. The shift was so thin, that he felt her nipple harden with the barest of touches and that’s when he realised that her hips were moving too. 

He pushed himself up to an elbow again, and her eyes, dark and hooded with desire stared back at him. Her lips parted with a hitched breath and he flicked her nipple with his thumb. Moving his hand downwards, he swallowed her breathy moan as his fingers teased the hem of her smalls, mouth crashing down on hers in simple, uncontained desire. 

They had not so much as kissed since they had said their wedding vows in the Chantry, he realised. And as his tongue licked her upper lip, he swore to himself that he would never leave it so long to kiss her again. Her mouth opened with a sigh and their tongues danced as he continued to rut, and she squirmed against him as his hand finally slipped into her smalls in search of her bud. 

He stifled a groan as he found her hand already there, gently touching herself. His fingers joined hers whilst they moved their hips and she guided him with her hand. He slipped a digit inside of her and she gasped, squirming against his erection, straining against his smalls, and he pictured feeling her growing wetness around his cock. With impatience, he slid her nightdress up so she was exposed and he pulled his cock out and rubbed it blissfully between her cheeks. Her soft skin was as smooth as silk as he rocked his hips, gaining pleasant friction with her arse.

“More…” she whispered, as her fingers joined his, pumping inside her. And with his control waning, he obliged eagerly. 

Alistair rolled her onto her back and pulled her hands over her head as he pinned her down. Her legs fell open for him, and as much as he wanted - no _needed -_ to be inside her, Alistair knew what his lady wife needed more was to be spoiled. If it were up to him, the king would love to stay buried between his wife’s legs for the rest of his days, as her taste was so sweet. He trailed kisses down her neck, and her hips lifted up to meet his, and his resolve almost broke as her core was teased against his cock. But being a Warden had one excellent perk: incomparable stamina. 

He continued down, kissing her heaving breasts as they rose and fell erratically with her breathing. Playing with one in his hand, he took her other nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly, her perfect bud hard and round in his mouth. With his hand, he squeezed her other one tight, and had her gasping: but he was nowhere near done. He let go of her breast in his mouth with a _pop_ and glanced up at her to see her mouth open and delicious, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. He grinned and kissed her stomach, then pulled back and positioned himself on his elbows, taking in the sight of her splayed out on the bed, rosy cheeks and breathy moans all for him. He pressed his lips to her knee, then with each kiss, his stubble tickled the inside of her thigh as he moved up her legs, finally reaching that gloriously warm and wet apex in between that was just begging for him to taste. 

Desire surged through him and without wasting any more time, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and licked her dripping wet folds. She cried out in pleasure as he rolled his tongue over her, and her fingers grabbed his head, nails digging into his scalp as he worked his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelt, and her hips rose up to meet his mouth, jittering as she climbed higher to her peak. He wanted to spoil her because she deserved it and more. So he reached up with one hand and squeezed a breast and flicked a nipple again, loving the way her hips bucked in response. Her nails dug deeper into his scalp and raked his chestnut hair as his other hand kneaded her arse, lifting her up so he had the best angle to eat her out. 

He teased and tortured her with his mouth, and finally sucked on her clit.

“Ah...ah...Alist-ah!” she cried out, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. He tasted her orgasm on his tongue and without missing a beat, rose and positioned himself at her entrance. Her eyes flicked open to look at him as she felt him move, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her exquisite mouth. That was all he needed.

So tormentingly slowly, Alistair finally entered her, the warmth and wetness so indescribably perfect that he couldn’t help but let out a moan. He fit her perfectly and when sheathed completely, he paused and stared into her eyes. Her breathing was still fast from her orgasm and he captured her mouth with his, letting her taste herself. Then he rolled his hips and started to slowly make love to her, not once tearing his gaze from her face. He noticed every single expression that flickered before him as he thrust and teased: a hand on her hip and another once more on her breasts. 

She wrapped her legs around him and he plunged unbelievably deeper inside of her, making them gasp and moan in unison as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time. As they moved, the pleasure and pressure mounted, but Alistair had much more control than a boy still wet behind the ears - he wanted to give her so much more before he - 

“Ah!” he gasped, as she took him by surprise. She had crossed her ankles behind his back and with her strong legs, twisted so that he was forced to roll and let her sit on top of him. Incredibly, they did not lose touch, and the angle was different but just as pleasurable. She smirked down at him as she pressed her hands to his chest and began to slowly roll her hips, her breasts rising and falling beautifully as she took him. Alistair was entranced as he watched his love move quicker with a growing need and he held her hips tightly to control her pace. But she didn’t need any assistance, as she moved faster and faster, his thrusts coming up to meet hers, flesh slapping flesh. Her moans crescendoed, and the erotic sight before him of his wife move above him with a wonton need to claim her pleasure...well he could feel his control slipping. He wanted to spill himself inside of her, and see his seed drip down her legs…

“Fuck!” she cried, reaching her second orgasm, as Alistair dug his fingers into her thighs to stop himself from joining her peak of pleasure. She fell back and Alistair seized his moment to regain control and topped her again. 

Fully sheathed once more, he deliberately moved slowly, as he knew that if he picked up the pace then he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. But she caught his eye and licked her lips.

“Please, Alistair,” she panted, her hands digging into his hips, urging him to move faster. 

“Mmmm?” he replied, biting her earlobe and slipping out of her, making her whimper. 

“What do you want?” he teased, stroking himself as she looked up at him with uncloaked desire. 

“It’s more than what I _want_ ...it’s what I _need_ ,” she whispered, sitting up to meet her lips with his, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, making his muscles tense in anticipation. 

They kissed delicately, fervently, noses touching, breath mingling. “And what do you need?” 

She pulled away and lay back down on the bed, her legs falling open. She traced one finger down the length of her, and his eyes followed.

“Take me, my king,” she begged, touching herself in front of him. 

Almost roughly, because he couldn't bear to _not_ be in her again, he flipped her over, brought her to her knees and lined himself up to her entrance. He kissed her salty back, sleek with sweat and breathed in her ear. “As my queen commands.”

He thrusted inside, and she took all of him. She threw her head back and he grabbed her neck, pulling her up to him for a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrusted fiercely, the globe of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. She moaned in his mouth as she touched herself; legs shaking as he pounded into her over and over; sweat mingling, with moans loud and needy, filling the chamber. He pumped with such animalistic need and she cried in pleasure and she gripped the bedsheets for support as he took her, unrelenting in his passion. 

With a shaking arm, he reached around and touched her pearl and she cried out, her orgasm sudden and huge.

“Fill me!” she pleaded as she continued to come. 

He snapped and finally, wonderfully, he reached his peak too and exploded inside of her, his vision blurred and black at the edges, as he emptied his seed inside of her - for the first time. And Maker, did it feel incredible to finish like this; in a union of bodies so perfect and natural. 

Alistair, as breathless as if he had just swam the length of the Waking Sea, collapsed on top of her, laughing with joy. 

“I...I love...you,” he panted, their legs entwined and he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began. 

They stayed like that for some time, and Alistair was tempted to fall asleep just like this, but she wiggled underneath him.

“Mmmm, as much as I love you inside of me,” she murmured;” you _are_ crushing me somewhat.” 

He reluctantly slipped out of her, trailing kisses all down her back and arse, making her hairs stand on end and her toes curl. He gathered her into his arms, the sheets around them a total mess, but he was loath to care as she lightly ran her fingers over him. His limbs felt like jelly, all loose and relaxed.

“Hey, Alistair?”

“Hmm?” he replied, barely opening his eyes. 

“There’s some cheese leftover from last night.” 

He sat up suddenly and looked over to where she pointed.

“Cheese for breakfast?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Cheese for breakfast,” she confirmed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
